Bonds
by traveler1472
Summary: Katniss rediscovers hope and what is means to be The Girl on Fire.  A look at the end of Mockingjay  a little OOC. Enjoy.


Hey you :) I haven't written in a long time, but after reading so many amazing stories here, I thought I'd give it a try. I hope I can meet your expectations, or at the very least, not irritate you with grammatical and spelling errors. Reviews are always lovely and welcome, unless they are negative without purpose. Thank you and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games series or any of its characters; those all belong to the lovely Suzanne Collins.

xXx

My mother, though now a creature of distance and isolation, had not always neglected me. She was present when I was an alien to this world, a fairy princess, the object of young boys' early desires, and as I reached the threshold of womanhood. After my father died and my mother checked out, I became the mother figure for Prim. I may have known how to provide, but I knew next to nothing of feminine qualities or womanhood, not past the age of 12. I remembered something, though, that my mother had mentioned on my 15th birthday.

"_Fairytales…reality…not everything is as it seems, Katniss. Bonds and ties…legends came to be somehow, for some reason."_

Of course I already knew all of that. Everyone learns that the hope they were given as children is truly false, and reality must set in. Legends came to be for the sake of comfort, for the pitiful. The only bonds and ties worth having are the ones that can be proven: blood ties. I could give all of myself for Prim and not think twice because our bond had nothing to do with all of that "love at first sight" shit. I trusted Gale, but I could never love him; I could never make love to him; I could never make a family with him. He knows just as well as I do what a fucked up world we lived in, and despite his experience, he (like many other men) thinks with his other head. It doesn't matter how many times he professes love to me, whether it is real or not; the world is unstable, and consequently, so are the only relationships we can really prove.

The sound of lightning wracked through my body as I curled up on my couch. There's beauty in its ferocity, in its blaze, but The Girl on Fire wishes only to burn with herself. The flame of any fire burns bright, but it seldom shares its light- those who wish to see by it must brave the dangers of being so close. The Mockingjay trills triumphantly but only when provided a tune. The girl I've become is the girl who must be hunted out, given a voice before emerging…but then again…isn't that the girl I've always been?

After Prim died, I was alone. People surrounded me, albeit in fewer numbers, but they mattered once…I used to be self-reliant. I used to hunt and snare and strategize and survive, but the girl I've become burns alone, even though they know I'm burning. I'll admit, I'm not the stunning flame they've pinned me as. We're all crazy now, but the difference is, they kept on moving. Either they extinguished their flames or they blazed, but they could still approach others. Me…I died already. My flames are merely burning embers, quickly losing all signs of potential life. They're easily fanned…but who could fan them? I'm not even capable of doing it myself.

As the cacophony of the storm outside reached its peak, I recognized one sound I have never heard at this time of night- my door. It must be three in the morning, and the only people who must be awake or stupid enough to wade through the God awful mess outside are the crazies- the Victors. Rising from the couch, I take stock of my aching limbs, and as I cross to the door, I contemplate whether or not I really want to open it. Two steps forward, one step back, stealthy as the hunter I once was, I slowly undo the locks. My hand grips the handle and I quickly yank the door open just as I press myself against the wall. My visitor, or assailant, does not come inside, and I try to assess the odds of a weapon on the other side.

"… Katniss? It's me…can I come in? It's fucking freezing, please, for the love of God, let me inside."

I reached quickly for his hand and pulled him from the rain without looking him in the eye. He didn't bother to wear shoes or a jacket, and the clothes he did wear were already soaked through. His hair and body were also plagued with mud and twigs and leaves. After relocking the door, I grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs into my room, and then into the bathroom. He showered and I searched for clothes to lend him; I also changed and checked our route for any dirt he may have trailed along, but the house was not disturbed by the storm's debris. I extinguished the fire that had burned in the fireplace before ascending the stairs. The door to my room was locked-

"Just a second, I'm not decent!"

Seconds later, the door swung open, and his cerulean eyes met mine and his lips parted into a winning smile, the kind only a Victor could wear. He extended his hand to me, sure and steady, not only of himself but of me…even though I wasn't sure of myself. But I trusted him. I took his hand and he led me to bed, the sheets already folded back, and we crawled into one another. My back against his front, his leg and arm draped over my own, fingers interlaced, his face in my hair and neck- we fit together. We have not touched like this in so long, but sleeping together has always been better than sleeping alone. Any night could disprove this theory, but until that happened, I trusted him- I trusted this.

He removed his hand to gently roll me over until I was facing him, a position I liked even more than the one previous (though I wasn't sure if I trusted myself enough to face it). His fingers brushed my hair behind my ear, and my breath hitched for just a moment. I felt his fingers freeze in that same instant, our hearts skipping a beat in tandem.

"Katniss, you're all I think about. I know I have a hard time showing it…after everything…but you have to know that; you can't possibly doubt that I love you, still." He always had a way with words. It wasn't just that he spoke eloquently; he spoke with purpose, and when there wasn't purpose, he didn't speak. He didn't like bullshit small talk; he spoke when he knew he would be heard. He knew I would understand all of what he meant- first, that he still loved me, and second, that I must believe it by now; I cannot, or should not, doubt him anymore.

"What do you know of bonds and ties, Peeta?"

"Only that they supposedly exist, and that I believe I have one with you…and that we'll never know if we bury ourselves in doubt."

"That's all that's ever been. Doubt. The world is sick and twisted, and the only person I've ever really been able to love, without a shadow of a doubt, was torn away! Burned up! They fucking took her, Peeta! Prim is dead…" The final word passed my lips almost silently, followed my silent, shaking sobs. Peeta pulled me close, and my crumpled, crying body rolled into him without thought. He rubbed my back with one hand and stroked my hair with the other. I buried my face within his chest, inhaling his scent, taking in the feel of strong form against my breaking frame. He lifted my face and kissed the tears away before letting out a soft chuckle.

"And what then, my dear Katniss, do you think of me being here?"

"I've doubted you. It's not like I ever got the chance to really think or feel for myself since everything began…how do you expect me to…"

"I've loved you since we were five years old. I know you know that…I'm only telling you that I can wait forever. That it's done now, all of it. The Games, the Revolution, the loss…it's done. You have forever to think about how you feel now; no one's choosing for you." I don't want to accept it. I can't take this all in. It can't be true; it's illogical. How can a fucked up world be imprisoned one moment and in free fall the next? How can any world operate in such a way? And if it can…then who's to say if it can enter one state forever? It's just too complicated; it cannot be believed. And yet…

"My mother told me once that not everything is as it seems, that legends were born for a reason. I always thought she was telling me to believe in stories and heroes. I believed in the perfect bonds she described, despite her treatment of me and my brothers. I compared you to a fairy princess, Katniss- I always thought I would love you forever." Even in the night, I could see the familiar sparkle, the life, in his eyes. His hand pulled my lower back even closer, my leg rising up to his hip. My forehead was now pressed against his, his lips hovering just above mine. My mind was in a frenzy, hormones and logic fighting desperately for control, logic also battling the staggering difference in perception between Peeta and me.

"My brothers…they've been with girls, women. They call them conquests, usually… only the ones without the bond…" _The Bond._ This was the kind of thing I wished my mother would have taught me about. She gave me the basics of sex, the mechanics and bodily precautions. She never discussed emotions with me. As awkward as those kinds of talks are, I wish I had them. As Peeta's body mixed with mine, I wish I could recall some description of this bond, and then I could know…maybe…if I could trust it…I missed that.

"…you don't have the bond with everyone, apparently. It's only a special few…"

"Peeta-"

"but I don't want a special few. You can tell before it even happens-"

"Peeta-"

"and I already know. You're the only one I've ever wanted that with-"

"Then do it already! Make love to me-" I crash my lips into his, pulling him on top of me, and he doesn't resist. He clutches at my hair, my face, my waist, pulling me into him. His lips move urgently with mine, tongues dancing together, his teeth occasionally pulling at my bottom lip. My fingers tangle deep in his hair, and my legs wrap around his hips, pulling our cores together. I grind dangerously into him, meeting his hardness with my ever increasing desire. Moans escape both of our mouths, but I can hear his desperate attempts to call me back. Instead, I push them away, deepening our kiss, grinding harder, raking my fingernails down his bare back. I can feel the shivers in his back and in his mouth, the groans my simple acts elicit push me further. There would be no virginal stumbles tonight- I would let instinct do what my brain cannot even fathom.

I roll onto him, hoping my abandon will allow him to let go, too. I smile down seductively at him as I cross my arms and peel the tank top over my head. My naked chest is staring him in the face and I gently lift my hips from his, pushing the top of my shorts as far down as they'll go. His mouth is agape, taking in the skin he's never seen before, the curves and beauty he's only ever fantasized about. I don't care that I have scars; he has them, too. Let him see my imperfections, if he's so sure of this bond. He'll understand…

Peeta quickly sits up, taking one breast into his mouth, caressing my hips as they dip and circle over his. He pushes me back, removing my shorts, kissing down my stomach until he reaches my warmth. My heart races, my stomach swirls, and I can't see straight as his tongue plays in my center. His thumb rubs my nerves and his fingers join his tongue, and pleasure courses like fire through my veins. I'm no longer merely lingering embers but a blazing fire, all consuming...and he fuels me. Peeta burns with me, our warmth and heat begging the other to grow. His touch, my screams, the pleasure shaking through me as waves of release shake me in his arms…it's still not enough. I quickly remove his pants, and before he can ask if I'm sure, I thrust my hips into his.

The pain is short lived; pleasure is too eager to be alive. Peeta's grunts and moans reverberate in my ears as I know mine are doing in his, and it won't be long before it's too much to take. His mouth on mine, sucking away the discomfort, pouring in the ecstasy, our hips wildly meeting in a rhythm that still manages to exist…it's too good to be true. I can feel both of our muscles tensing, the expletives flying through the air-

"Holy shit!"

"Oh fuck-"

"Oh, God, Peeta"

"Don't stop…"

The pleasure, in ultimate defiance of logic, sweeps over us both. We contract together, coming and riding and settling in and around one another. Our lips are still together, but more slowly, more purposeful, and less urgent. I can feel him smile against me, and without thinking, I'm smiling back, and we both must look crazy, but all I can feel is the afterglow of the most passionate, most careless, and most insanely wonderful thing I've ever felt in my whole life. I've never had this kind of experience, even on my own, but….I understand. As I felt him come inside me, I felt the bond form, our most sacred parts creating a sacred pact. It is not created by blood, but it can create blood, and it occurs to me that I've chosen right…that I felt the bond and that it existed, and if we had one, then we must've chosen right.

I feel him whispering "I love you" against my lips in between kisses and I know I'm saying it, too, but even as I'm saying it, I'm just now realizing how much I mean it. I think I always knew, somehow, how I felt about him, but I never quite allowed myself to take full stock of it. It wasn't until I was once again staring into his cerulean eyes that I knew I could've found this bond without the sex…I could've waited…but I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry in the least. I'm glad I let go long enough to see what was right in front of me.

"So…you love me. Real or not real?"

"Real."


End file.
